At a certain point, he decided to open the doors. He pried
them apart and held them open with his foot.

He was presented with a cinder-block wall on which, perfectly centered, were scrawled three “13”s—one in chalk, one in red paint,
one in black. It was a dispiriting sight. He concluded that he must be on the thirteenth floor, and that, this being an express elevator, there was no
egress from the shaft anywhere for many stories up or down. (Such a shaft is known as a blind hoistway.)

He peered down through the crack between the wall and the sill of the elevator and saw that it was very dark. He could make out some light at the
bottom. It looked far away. A breeze blew up the shaft.

He started to call out. “Hello?” He tried cupping his hand to his mouth and yelled out some more. “Help! Is there anybody there?
I’m stuck in an elevator!”
He kept at it for a while.